


Heil Richthofen

by YankeeDoodleDandy



Category: World War One - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Other, WW1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28916700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YankeeDoodleDandy/pseuds/YankeeDoodleDandy
Summary: Manfred von Richthofen, the Red Baron, takes his doctor's advice and lets his head wound heal. Because of this, he survives the war. At first living peacefully, Richthofen soon becomes aware of the Nazis, who are quickly gaining influence. When the Reichstag burns and Hitler is named chancellor, Richthofen becomes concerned for the future of Germany. He gathers his old comrades and sets out with a single mission in mind: take down Hitler, stop the Nazis, and restore the German Empire, for the sake of peace.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. The Rebirth

In the years since the war, the Red Baron felt at peace. Manfred von Richthofen felt glad that the war was over. Of course, he missed the thrill of flying, being in the air, free as a bird, but it didn't quite feel the same anymore. The final year of the war had broken him. So many of his good friends had gone into the air and never came back. It was a time where technology triumphed over skill, and all of a sudden, flying had lost its glory. At least to him.

Manfred had spent most of the year of 1918 in and out of the hospital, recovering from a head wound he had received in mid-July. It was a hard time, and he had longed to be back up in the air. He had hated the worst of all to receive reports of his comrades fallen in battle, and knowing that he was not there to help them, to prevent their deaths. Finally, in early October, he was given the okay to go back up in the air. For him, the squadron had been different. Many of his men, many of his good friends, were simply not there. The fact that he had not been able to save them haunted him. He was relieved when the war finally ended. He was tired. Troubled. For him, the only thing left to do was to return home and rest.

It was now 1929. Manfred had felt like he'd grown over the years. The war had opened his eyes, and he never wanted to experience another one again. Just the thought of it brought back the disturbing memories. He lived alone in the countryside, and he was happy. His years of solitude healed him, and he felt like he had in the early days of the war, quiet and peaceful. Only a choice few were permitted to visit him, and anyone else was viewed unfavorably by him.

Today was a different experience. Manfred had gone out to get the newspaper when he saw a peculiar sight: a lone man, walking up the road. He'd never seen this man before, and already felt disturbed by his mere presence in the area. The man came closer, and Manfred made a move to leave, when he saw the man raise his hand and wave, as if he was a long-lost friend. "Hello!" The man called out.

Manfred refused to move. "Who are you, and what is your business here?"

The man smiled warmly. "Ah, the mystical _Rote Kampfflieger_!"

Manfred frowned. "Those days are far behind me, mein Herr. Please identify yourself."

"I am Peter Faumer, I represent the new national socialist party."

Manfred raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "And this should concern me how?"

"Our party is dedicated to restoring Germany to its former glory." Faumer explained. "We've been gaining a big influence among the German people lately, and we are looking for new members. We were hoping you would join us. Why, Herr Udet and Herr Goring have joined. I understand they are old friends of yours?"

"Udet and Goring..." Manfred became very quiet. He remembered them. His mind trailed off to when he had received the news of all the death. He began to become nervous and unsettled, and his soft blue eyes reflected this.

"Would you like to join?" Faumer asked, breaking him out of his trance.

"No." Manfred said, rather quickly.

Faumer seemed disappointed. "I understand. I am sorry I have troubled you."

"No, no. It's fine." Manfred sighed. 

"Good day, herr Richthofen." Faumer made a polite bow and walked back from the way he came.

Manfred watched Faumer leave and turned back to his home, shaking his head. He sat down in a chair in front of the fireplace and let out a deep sigh. Unfolding the newspaper, he found that the front page showed news of the National Socialist party, which Faumer had come from. He could tell that there was something horrible about these men. They were surrounded by flags, showing a swastika tilted on its axis, as if in motion. These flags looked authoritative and angry. Manfred could feel a certain evil in them. He could tell that there was nothing "socialist" about these men. They were a special breed of dictators, wanting only power above all else. And there was no better place to take power than in a broken, bitter country. He could see right through them. His only question, why couldn't anyone else?


	2. A Twisted Lie

Two days later, Manfred invited Lothar over for company. He hadn't seen his brother in over a year, and Lothar had seemed quite excited to see him again. But Manfred was more focused on other things. "So, Lothar. Thank you for coming to visit.

"I'm always happy to see you, Manfred. You never show yourself that much anymore." Lothar said. "You're not really yourself either."

Manfred ignored the remark and stared into the fire, quietly sipping his tea. "I was recently approached by a political recruiter."

"Let me guess, Peter Faumer from the national socialists?" Lothar smiled a bit.

"He visited you too?" Manfred looked over at his brother.

"Yeah." Lothar leaned back in the chair. "I'm telling you, those national socialists are bound and determined to get a Richthofen on their side."

"It would be a huge propaganda victory to them." Manfred said. "Goring and Udet have already joined with them."

"Really?"

"I wish I was lying." Manfred sighed. "And after reading the paper, I'm thoroughly convinced that they've signed their souls away. These national socialists present evil, Lothar. At least to me."

"You're not wrong." Lothar said. "Their leader, some Hitler fellow, wrote a book. I read it. It's a terrible mess. All he talks about it how people he doesn't like are making the country bad and thus we need to get rid of them."

Manfred showed a bit of surprise at this. "Define 'get rid of them.'"

"He didn't state if directly but I'd assume genocide." Lother explained.

Sitting motionless, Manfred looked into his teacup, as if searching for a sign within it. After remaining in his stance for a few moments, he finally shook his head. "I figured." He muttered quietly.

Lothar finished his tea and set the cup on the small table between them. Manfred watched him. "Have you had enough tea?"

"I've had enough. Thank you, though." Lothar folded his hands and laid them on his chest. "But you're right. These national socialists are dangerous. But they're currently lacking in political power. Their influence is rising quickly, and that could change in a heartbeat."

"Yes, yes." Manfred sighed. "The only thing we can realistically do right now is wait."

"If they win," Lothar prophesied, "a new war could be on the horizon."

Manfred's face darkened at the mention of the word. He sat ominous in the light of the fire. At last, he spoke in a low, barely noticeable voice. "We can only pray that it won't come to that. Not now. Not again."


	3. The New Order

In the months and eventually years since that meeting, time seemed to pass quicker for Manfred. Of course, there were times when time dragged, and he felt as old as time itself. While he didn't seem to change, the country certainly did. Things were becoming worse. Violence was on the rise. Riots were breaking out. People were disappearing or getting taken away. This scared Manfred. It was exactly what he had feared would happen. He knew that there was no chance that anyone who spoke up about these new evils had a chance of surviving the ongoing purge.

His mood had darkened considerably. Many of the people that he had in his "inner circle" had disappeared without a trace, and he heard no more of them. Every day he cursed these national socialists. He hated them for everything that they did. They had taken over the press, and were producing propaganda and hideous lies. Though he hated most of all the fact that they would not leave him alone. There were many articles in the newspaper labeling him as a "traitor to the nation" and a communist. Manfred suspected that they were bitter that he did not join them in their mad dream of glory.

Anytime he went to turn on the radio he had to remind himself what he was going to expose himself to. It seemed that these days there was nothing but shouting. Nothing but anger. Manfred disliked everything about it. He wanted it all to stop. This day it was beautiful, and a light breeze was blowing. Manfred was standing on a hill, the grass waving around his knees. He felt like a single drop of water in an endless ocean. He enjoyed seeing the colorful flowers that popped up here and there. Ever since he had made his home in this area he had felt free, like there was no earthly bonds to hold him down.

Of course, no earthly bonds had ever held him down. He recalled his days in the air. The cold sting of the wind against his face, the sight of the ground, thousands of feet below him, the rush of adrenaline at the sight of an enemy. Those were regarded by others as his glory days. Looking back on them, there was nothing "glorious" about them now. He often relived the sight of the first Englishman falling in his dreams. Whenever he did, he woke up in cold sweat, praying that the memory could be gone forever.

Manfred sat down and took a deep breath in. There was no smell of oil. There was no smell of benzine. The air was pure. Clean. Refreshing. The sun was high, the birds were singing, and the grass was waving in the wind. Manfred liked this peaceful scene. But he knew it wouldn't last forever. He recalled the once-peaceful fields of Western Europe, scarred by trenches and turned into barren hellscapes because of the war. And right now there was no doubt that a new war was on the horizon.

It sent a chill up his spine. There was no doubt that this new war looming on the horizon would be even more horrible than the first one. There mere thought of war, even one that hadn't happened yet, turned him into a wreck. It made him remember those days in the hospital, tears streaming down his face as he read yet another report of a dearly beloved friend fallen and dead. A single teardrop fell down his face and he hung his head. "The war to end all wars." He muttered to himself. "If there ever is a war to end all wars, we will be going with it. It's the only way."

And all the world seemed to agree with him.


	4. The Eagle and the Wolf

Manfred sat in front of the radio. He was a still as a statue. His body was tense and his gaze was fixated on his sweaty hands. There was loud cheering from the radio, and shouting, and more cheering. This went on for quite some time before Manfred felt that he had quite enough and turned off the broadcast. He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a shaky sigh. Lothar, sitting at a table behind him, shifted a little in his seat. Manfred turned around and faced his brother. "It is finished."

Lothar nodded solemnly. Manfred stood up. "There's no doubt it will happen now."

"Most likely." Lothar said, pulling a newspaper from his coat and handed it to his brother. "They're definitely going to seize power."

The Red Baron shook his head and began an agitated pacing around the foyer. "i knew it. I saw this coming."

"I'm sorry, Manfred. I know you're upset, but this can't be undone." Lothar tried to console his brother.

"Lothar, I _can't_..." The sound of knocking made the room deathly quiet.

Manfred went and answered the door. He was already in a bad mood from the radio broadcast, and the man standing at the door made him even worse. Manfred stared at the visitor with hatred in his eyes for a few moments before finally speaking. "Oh. It's you."

Peter Faumer smiled warmly. "Hello, herr Richthofen! It is I again."

Manfred leaned against the door frame. "How can I help you, herr Faumer."

"We are again coming to you concerning your entry to the party." Faumer explained. "We've grown a lot since I last visited you, so we figured that perhaps you might have gained an interest in us. After all, we've been doing the German people a great service, bringing them out of the slum and all. And I assume you've heard our radio broadcast about the Reichstag? Terrible tragedy."

"What I told you the first time was my final answer." Manfred said flatly. "I don't want to join your party."

Faumer seemed to be getting annoyed, but tried to maintain his cheery expression. "I see, I see. But I suggest you reconsider." He turned to leave. "I'm not worried, herr Richthofen. " Think about it. You're sure to join one of these days."

Manfred shut the door and looked at Lothar. "Guess who it was."

"Our good friend herr Faumer?"

"Yeah."

"Still trying to get you to join up, eh?" Lothar laughed humorlessly.

"This one was more along the lines of a threat." Manfred said, sitting down next to Lothar. "I don't know why they bother. They aren't going to get any luck with me or you. Not in their mad little dreams."

Lothar took a sip of water. "This whole thing is getting worse than I thought."

Manfred slowly took up his brother's hands and held them tight. "Lothar, these men are gaining more power ever day, and we need to be ready to resist anything that they are going to do to us. We need to be strong." They sat in dead silence, Manfred holding Lothar's hands, tears shimmering in his eyes. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Lothar smiled an apologetic smile. "Manfred, nothing bad is going to happen to us, I promise. There are others who are going to have bigger problems then ourselves. It's bound to happen. One way or another."

Manfred slid down in his chair a bit, burying his face in his hands. "I never asked for any of this. Did we not just fight a War to End All Wars? It was a lie. It ended nothing. And now we're heading for another one...!"

"Calm down, Manfred! Calm down!" Lothar held his brother's shoulders firmly. "You need to calm down..."

Manfred got up from his chair and went to look out the window. It was midday, and the wind was beginning to pick up. Dark clouds were visible over the horizon. "There's a new storm coming." He said sternly. "We have no idea when and where to expect it."

Lothar joined his brother at the window. "It's going to fine." He murmured silently. "At least, for now."


	5. Motive

The incident at the Reichstag spawned incredible support for the national socialist party. Manfred and Lothar were listening when Hitler was named Chancellor of Germany. Right after the ceremony came to an end, and the crowds started cheering, Manfred turned the radio off and went straight to his bedroom. Lothar didn't dare disturb him. Manfred stayed in the room for the rest of the day. He didn't eat, he didn't drink, he didn't even speak. Lothar understood what his brother felt. Frankly, he felt the same way. But he knew that Manfred's perception of everything was different. Manfred had seen much more horrible things. Things he could never forget.

Around eleven that night, Manfred finally came out. He looked tired, and deeply disturbed. Manfred didn't acknowledge his brother, and instead slipped down into his armchair in front of the fireplace. Lothar sat in the neighboring armchair and looked towards his brother, as if expecting words of encouragement. Manfred said nothing. Lothar breathed a long sigh. "Well, things have certainly gotten worse, ha-ha. Right?"

Manfred nodded silently. His face was emotionless and cold. Lothar shook his brother by the shoulder. "Manfred, I know you're upset-"

"I'm not upset." Manfred said without moving.

"You are." Lothar said. "The last time you acted like this was the broadcast about the Reichstag. Stop acting like you're not upset. You know you are. And you've been worse lately."

Manfred began to tap his foot. "We have to fix this."

Lothar laughed heartily. "What? Manfred, you can't be serious. We can't just _fix_ this."

"Well what do you want us to do, then." Manfred said, suddenly getting up and standing before his younger brother. "Sit around and watch as our country is led down the war path once again? They are going to destroy what had fallen apart a long time ago."

Lothar was surprised from this outburst. "Well, do you have a plan, or something? You can't just say you're going to overthrow someone and not have a plan to do it."

"I'll work on that." Manfred said, beginning to pace. "But people are going to suffer if we don't do something. Grab some paper. Let's get to work."

Manfred strode over to his desk and picked up a mess of paper and a pen, and gestured for Lothar to do the same. "Here's a pen. There's paper over here. I'll check with you in an hour. Tell me what you have."

"Wait, Manfred-" But Manfred had already run upstairs, leaving a trail of papers behind him.

"Manfred?"

Lothar heaved a sigh and sat down at the table. He picked up the pen and sat still. Manfred must have gone downright insane to have thought of such of things. But, he knew, Manfred had seen terrible things. He had seen friends die horrible deaths. Terrible deaths that would live in the poor man's memory forever. So, he felt reason in why Manfred wanted to do this. He couldn't imagine what Manfred would feel if those men he despised stayed in power. They would probably take Manfred away. Things like that were already beginning to happen across the nation. So maybe Manfred was right. After all, it wouldn't be the least bit dishonorable to try. Lothar touched the pen to the paper and began scribbling away.


	6. Little Sparrow

Manfred sat at his desk in his room, writing down all his plans and thoughts. He'd scrawled out a good page and a half before he paused, feeling like he needed to recollect himself. He felt some sort of strange guilt, a guilt that he hadn't had since the war. And he thought to himself, maybe it was wrong for him to get Lothar involved in this plan. He could get hurt, or worse. He tried not to go down that path. But what if Lothar _did_ want to join in? After all, what's to say that Lothar didn't feel the same way about the war? His friends were Manfred's friends too. He had seen them die all the same that Manfred had.

Manfred's gaze wandered to an old photo on top of the desk. In it, he stood next to his friends who were now gone. It was a window into a happier time, when they were all a merry band of brothers new to the air. He smiled faintly at the memories. In fact, when had he last smiled? It seemed like it hadn't happened in ages. Maybe it was a week ago, and he didn't know it. Maybe it was months. Or years. He was smiling in the photograph. But that was from a time when he didn't understand. It was from when he and his comrades believed that they could live forever, and weren't aware of the price of war.

He quietly crept downstairs and peered over at Lothar, who was sitting peacefully at the table, writing. Manfred cleared his throat, causing Lothar to turn in his direction. "Oh! Manfred! Is something... wrong?"

"I wanted to apologize for the outburst earlier." Manfred said timidly. "I want you to understand that I'm not trying to force you to join me."

Lothar smiled. "Well, Ifeel that you're in a strange place where you need support, and maybe that now it is time for me to be the older brother."

Manfred cracked a grin when he didn't mean to, and Lothar caught it. "Ah! There's a smile! You know I'm right."

"You are." Manfred sighed. "I can't deny it. And I have to admit, there's no way on earth I'd be able to do anything like this myself. This is going to be a huge undertaking. The national socialists have a death grip on the country. There's just two of us against their, what? Thousands?"

"Manfred, you're going off again." Lothar shook his head. "We'll find a way. If you could outsmart death in a bright red aeroplane, you can outsmart anything."

Manfred chuckled. "I have no idea what I'd do without you, Lothar. Really."

Manfred came and embraced his brother, and then slowly returned to his room. Lothar always seemed to restore a glimmer of hope in his shattered soul. He was all Manfred really had left in the aftermath of the war. Of course, there used to be others in his life like Lothar. He turned back to the the photograph on the desk. Probably the one who stood out the most was young Karl Schafer. A thirty-kill ace himself, Schafer was definitely worthy of respect. But what Manfred liked about him was that he seemed as bright as a ray of sunshine. Sure, he was a prankster and certainly silly, but he made everyone happier, and was a valued member of the team. But, sadly, he had been the first to fall. Manfred recalled the day when he had heard the news of the ace's death. How the men of Jasta 28 had found him unscathed, except that he was shattered, every bone in his body broken. Manfred had wished every day that he could take Schafer's place, so that maybe Karlchen might have a bit more time to enjoy life.

When his other comrades fell, Manfred felt the same about all of them. He would have gladly died so that they could keep living, or to otherwise die alongside them so that they could all be safe from the present nightmare. He's always felt that the greatest challenge he'd ever faced was to carry on without them. He'd had Lothar back then. And Moritz too. The dog he'd raised from a puppy had sadly passed on, but Lothar had been there to help him get through that loss.

Manfred set the photograph face down. He didn't want to look at it. Every time he did, he dropped into a spiral of regret. With a shaking hand, he picked up his pen and continued to write. Lothar would be there for him now. Lothar had been there from the beginning. And he would be there to the bitter, bitter end.


	7. The Ultimatum

It was a rainy day, and Manfred was enjoying his morning. He was having a nice quiet doze in his armchair when there came a knock at the door. Forcing himself awake, Manfred wearily trudged over to the door and opened it. There stood Peter Faumer, only he didn't wear his usual forced cheery expression. "Herr Faumer?"

"Herr Richthofen." Faumer said with a polite bow.

"Why are you here? I've made it clear multiple times that I don't want to join you."

"We know." Faumer sighed. "You have isolated yourself almost completely, 'made yourself disappear,' so to speak."

"...And?" Manfred said, confused.

Faumer drew a pistol from his coat pocket and handed it to Manfred. "We would now suggest that you make yourself disappear _permanently_."

"W-why?" Manfred stuttered.

"It's simple." Faumer explained in a stern voice. "You have nothing to live for anymore. It was all taken away during the war. But just give us some thought, Herr Richthofen, just think. Everything you lost, you could get it _all_ back, you could have everything you ever wanted."

"I had everything I needed back then." Manfred reminisced. "But why would I ever need more than that? And besides. It doesn't matter. It's all gone now. It can't be brought back."

"Then I suggest you take that gun," Faumer said with a gesture, "and put it to good use. Heil Hitler." He raised his right hand in salute and promptly walked off.

Manfred again stood alone in his home, only this time he held a weapon with which he was supposed to take his own life. He _couldn't_ do it. No... Slowly, he walked into his bedroom and sat down on the bed. He fiddled with the weapon. These national socialists. They were supposed to _help_ the German people, yet they deemed it right to destroy the lives of innocents who had no intention of getting involved with them.

They he tought about what Faumer had said to him. _You have nothing to live for anymore._ In a way, he was right. What _did_ he have left? He had Lothar. He had the few of his friends who had remained alive in the past months. That was about it. And what would happen if he didn't take his life like they wanted him to? Maybe soldiers would come and take him. What then? Would they execute him? Would they throw him into prison for the rest of his life? Would they torture him? Or exile him? All of this swirled around in his brain. Whether he killed himself or not, the national socialists would win. He, with a shaky hand, placed the barrel of the gun under his chin. Silent tears began to roll down his cheeks. He put a finger on the trigger. He wanted to pull it.

But he couldn't bring himself to.

What about Lothar? What about his family? What about his friends? The national socialists would probably force _them_ to kill themselves too. Well, not Wolfram. Manfred had read the papers. Wolfram had taken the enticing bait that the national socialists had set. Manfred pitied his cousin. The man would unknowingly be forced to do horrible things. And because Wolfram had sworn his loyalty to the national socialists, or, as the English speakers celled them, "Nazis," they wouldn't lay a finger on the man. _Despicable_. Manfred thought. He didn't want to kill himself. He was done with killing. He wanted to protect his loved ones. He _needed_ to.

He threw the gun down onto the floor and stood up. _No_. He said to himself. _I'm not going anywhere. Not without a fight_.


	8. A Comrade

Manfred didn't tell Lothar his plan. He knew that once Lothar got involved in things, it was hard to get him uninvolved from them. For that matter, Manfred kept it to himself. It wasn't the best plan he'd ever come up with, but it would work. Well, he  _ hoped _ it would. This plan was all about timing. If he didn't get everything right, he'd be dead. In terms of the plan itself, it was somewhat simple. He would fake being dead, and then wait for the soldiers to approach him before jumping up and disposing of them with the handgun. Speaking of the handgun, it frustrated him. He found it quite difficult to handle. He was more used to long, sleek hunting rifles, which he could fire quickly, efficiently, and skillfully. However though, he smirked to himself, the soldiers would find it hard to believe that he'd taken his own life with a  _ rifle _ .

Throughout the evening, Manfred practiced his technique.  _ Play dead. Jump up. Fire. _ He practiced it over and over until he'd memorized it. At last, though, he suffered a splitting headache and decided to go to bed. He lay there for a few moments, worried about what was to happen the next day. He was scared. Fear was something that the war had introduced to him. It started out small, but it festered and grew inside of him until every day he woke up scared that a friend would die, or that  _ he _ would die. It was an absolutely horrid feeling. And he prayed that it wouldn't get in the way of his plan. He continued to think this over and over until he fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning Manfred was up before the sun. That was an essential detail. The soldiers would be coming at the crack of dawn, so it was important that he was ready before they were. He checked himself one last time. He drank a glass of water to calm himself down and took a few deep breaths. He had sworn himself off killing years before. He sometimes looked back and pitied his past self for taking pleasure in hunting people, but would then remember that he soon learned the error of his ways. He turned his mind back to the current situation. There was still a killer in him somewhere, one that he needed to let out now. He didn't want to draw blood again, but he told himself the same thing he'd always told himself.  _ I have to _ .

The sun began to peek over the horizon, and Manfred knew that it was time. He got into position, laying on the floor with a gun in his hand. All he had to do now was wait, as a snake or a fox waits for its prey. Soon enough, he heard the putter of a motor. Then voices. Manfred listened closely, trying to figure out how many there were. As he did, he heard the door and quickly held his breath. "Hm, unlocked." One of the men said.

"How convenient." The other remarked.

The soldiers entered. There were only two of them, which was a surprise and a relief for Manfred. One of the soldiers was an older fellow who Manfred guessed was the same age as himself. The other was a younger fellow, much younger. He seemed too young to be a soldier. He was much more curious than his older partner. "Wow." The young soldier said. "Are we really here for  _ him _ ?"

"Yes." The older soldier replied, mock sorrow in his voice. "And don't feel down. It was an honorable suicide."

"Honorable how?" Manfred heard the younger soldier mutter.

The older soldier ignored him. "He's over here."

"I don't see any gun wounds." The younger soldier sighed.

"I've seen this one before." The older soldier explained. "He took poison. The gun was to take his life in case the poison failed."

The young soldier nodded. The older soldier again ignored him. "I'll get his feet, you get his head."

"Got it."

Manfred knew that his time was come. As the older soldier leaned down, Manfred jumped up and fired. It was the first gunshot he'd heard in ages. The shot scared him. And he'd only ever seen blood spatters like that from a distance, watching as he brought the life of yet another unlucky entente pilot to an end. The older soldier fell back and uttered a sorry attempt at a scream, shot through the mouth and dead quickly after.

Manfred then leaped to his feet and whirled around, quickly searching for the younger soldier, fearing that the man was armed. What he saw saddened him. The young soldier was huddled in a corner with his hands over his eyes, whimpering softly. Manfred felt the soldier's pain. He slowly put the gun down and approached the soldier. He put his hand on the man's shoulder. The young soldier jumped and shakily put his hands down. "I won't hurt you if you don't hurt me."

"I- wasn't planning to." The soldier squeaked.

Manfred helped him up. "I'm sorry about your friend."

The soldier looked over at the bloody mess on the floor. "Oh! Yeah, he wasn't-"

"I figured." Manfred said with a smile. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Frederik." The young soldier said.

"Excellent name." Manfred said. "How long have you been on the job."

"I just joined yesterday." Frederik explained. "I didn't know that this is what I was supposed to be doing."

"Somehow this doesn't surprise me." Manfred shook his head. "It seems appropriate for people like them."

"What do you mean?" Frederik asked.

"They're jumpy little middle-class upstarts who think that violence will solve all their problems, as if we didn't learn anything from the war that we just fought." Manfred growled. "They're friendless, godless warmongers."

Frederik seemed ashamed of himself. "Oh..."

"You wouldn't enjoy war." Manfred continued. "It took away all I had. Schafer, Festner, Allmenroder, Voss, Wolff, I can go on! At the beginning of the war we all had each other. But by the end..."

"What happened?" Frederik rushed.

"They were gone." Manfred said in a small voice, trying to hold back tears as he remembered all the good time's he'd had with them. "That war took away everything I had. The war that the new government wants to starts will take everything from  _ you _ ."

"So that's why you don't show up anymore?" Frederik asked, finally putting the pieces together in his head. Manfred nodded.

"My brother and I are putting a plan together. A resistance movement." Manfred explained. "We are going to try to start a rebellion against the new government. To stop all the killing that will take place."

Frederik looked up at him. "Can I join?"

Manfred paused to think about it. "Of course."

Frederik smiled the biggest smile that Manfred had ever seen. "Oh wow!"

Manfred stood up and put a hand on Frederik's shoulder. "Let's eh, clean up this mess. Then you'll learn what we're going to do."


End file.
